


Sanctimonia Vincet Semper

by TheSilverCardinal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Family Drama, Fix-It of Sorts, Harry and Hermione are rivals, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Seer Draco, Slash, Slytherin Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-11 12:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11148318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverCardinal/pseuds/TheSilverCardinal
Summary: Draco Malfoy went back in time, saw the future, or he woke up. He's still not quite sure which one it was. All he knows is that he's eleven, getting ready to go to Hogwarts, and he has never been more terrified in his entire life. Only one thing is for certain; he's going to do everything in his power to make sure Voldemort falls. HP/DM





	1. The End of The Beginning

The greatest mistake of Draco Malfoy’s life was now threatening to end it.

It was not the decision to take the Dark Mark. Given the circumstances, that was actually a smart choice. Nor was his greatest mistake hunting Potter and his friends to the Room of Hidden Things; had he managed to steal the diadem before they had reached it, his family would no doubt have been restored to their place as favored servants.

He shuddered at the thought of his family being returned to glory. Although unpleasant, he did not think aiding the Dark Lord was a mistake. It did not pay to oppose the victor of a magical war when he had already won. 

No, the greatest mistake of Draco’s stupid life happened years ago, in Madam Malkin’s shop. He had been paying for it ever since.

His parents were dying. The Dark Lord may not intentionally be killing them, but they were dying, make no mistake. He saw the way the life had been stomped out of them; his prideful father- perhaps even arrogant- had been reduced to a paranoid, quivering mess, like a dog that had been kicked one too many times. His mother, the woman he had long thought no one could match in grace and cunning, had become diminished and frail, obsessively fearing every passing moment for the safety of her disgraced son and husband. 

And now, he was dying too, bleeding out in the blasted ruins of the Hogwarts headmaster’s office.

He had been wrong. He had chosen the wrong side of this damned war when he was too young to make heads or tails of it. And now Potter ran away, and got blasted to bits by the Dark Lord, so that was that. It was over.

That's what it sounded like from here, at least. The howls of  _ “Harry Potter is dead!”  _ left little to the imagination.

Towards the end, he had hoped against hope that maybe,  _ maybe, _ Potter could pull it off. That he and his family would be able to run before the Aurors rounded up what remained of the Death Eaters, and that they could make a life far, far away…

He coughed into his hand, ignoring the sinister glimmer of scarlet and spit. It was getting hard for him to hear, everything had a faraway quality to it… What he wouldn't give to just rest… 

Some part of him realized that there was screaming. It might have been himself. He wasn't sure. 

_ Just rest…  _

It was louder now, a deafening mass of roaring.

_ I just want to rest… _

Draco felt his consciousness slipping, but he still heard them screaming, screaming…

_ Rest… _

And then the strangest thing happened:

He woke up.

For a moment, he couldn't remember what had happened. Then he saw the bed hangings around him and realized he was at the manor, and it all came back to him at once, prompting the sudden urge to vomit.

Which he did. Onto the floor, to be exact. 

He groaned, starting at the sound of his own voice. It was much too high pitched.

_ Circe, what…  _

Draco leapt to his feet and ran to the vanity, gasping at his reflection. He was much shorter, his face was less defined, and he hadn't worn his hair like that since- 

He sat down on the floor, head spinning as he came to a conclusion with terrifying implications.

He was eleven. Merlin’s sagging ballsacks, he was  _ eleven.  _ The realization sparked another thought. If he was only eleven, that meant… 

Fumbling, he drew back the left sleeve of his pajamas, feeling an unfamiliar jolt of happiness at what he saw. He ran his fingers across the skin there; it was unmarked, unblemished. There was no evidence of his servitude to the Dark Lord. 

He rushed to the balcony overlooking the grounds and threw open the doors, cool night air washing over him like a refreshing bath. The grounds were free of any evidence of the Dark Lord’s occupation. There were no dementors gliding in front of the moon or camps of Snatchers spread haphazardly on the lawn. 

_ “For protection,”  _ he had told them in a silky voice. 

In a daze, he stumbled back onto his bed. His head was swimming with the same question over and over: how?

Had he somehow managed to go back in time? He thought that was unlikely; traveling through time was a very advanced branch of magic that required a lot of preparation- or at the very least, a Time Turner. Then again, it was magic. Anything was possible.

Perhaps this was the afterlife? Draco doubted that as well. He definitely still had a pulse and everything around him seemed pretty mundane for the afterlife. 

Maybe it had just been a really elaborate dream? Draco scoffed at that idea, though he wished it were true.

Then what? What could have happened? The last thing he remembered was… dying. But he was here, in Malfoy Manor, and as far as he could tell, very much alive.

A loud crack interrupted his thoughts and he fell over in a scramble for his wand- which was nowhere to be found. 

His heart jumped to his throat. “Dobby?” 

It was certainly Dobby; there was no mistaking the strangely large eyes and batlike ears. For some reason, the fact that he was alive and still the Malfoy servant relieved Draco of a guilt he hadn't realized he had been carrying.

Dobby was obviously not as happy to see Draco as he was to see him. In a falsely chipper voice, he asked, “Is the young master feeling unwell?”

Draco stared blankly, an uncomfortable feeling rising in his chest as Dobby vanished the sick on the floor. It had been a long time since he had spoken to the house elf- in his mind, at least. The last time he had seen the elf was his deranged aunt murdering him, for Circe’s sake. 

The elf repeated his question. 

“Er, no. I'm fine.” Draco said, hoping it would be enough.

Dobby scrutinized him, obviously not believing him but not willing to say a word against him either. 

Inspiration struck. “Dobby, actually, could you do something for me?”

The house elf started. “Dobby is able to do lots of things for the heir of Malfoy.” He squeaked slowly.

Oh, right. This must be the first time he had ever actually  _ asked  _ Dobby to help him.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Draco ran a hand through his hair. How could he say this without raising suspicion? “I was wondering if you could bring me yesterday's copy of the Daily Prophet.”

Dobby nodded. “Dobby will get it now!”

The elf vanished, and Draco began to pace. Panic and terror were finally starting to set in. If it was the same… and he was the only one who knew about the Dark Lord… 

Before he could work himself into a frenzy, Dobby reappeared, an immaculately pressed paper in his hands. He would have thought it unread, but Draco knew that's just how his parents were. He  snatched it out of the house elf's hands and scanned the cover.

_ July 30, 1991. _

He was shaking. The newspaper fell from his grip, and he collapsed on the bed with his head in his hands.

_ Breathe.  _ He told himself.  _ It's ok. You're safe, everyone is safe.  _ Harry Potter hadn't even set foot in Hogwarts yet. The Dark Lord was a shadow of his former self. 

_ Breathe.  _

“Is Master Draco sure he is feeling well?” Draco's attention snapped back to Dobby, who was watching him like he had never really seen him before.

“I'm fine. I'm fine.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “You're dismissed.”

Still, the elf didn't disapparate. Instead he stood awkwardly, clearing waiting for something.

Draco felt the slightest annoyance at his waiting. “You can leave now.”

Dobby gave Draco a strange look. His ears perked up and his eyes went wide. When he spoke, it was in a voice Draco recognized as genuinely happy. “Dobby thanks Master Draco for his kindness!” With a pop, he disappeared.

Draco’s stomach swooped as he realized that Dobby hadn't been waiting for dismissal. He had been waiting for punishment. He shuddered. While the Dark Lord had stayed in the manor, Draco had experienced a similar style of punishment, screaming under the Cruciatus whenever it served a whim or fancy. To think he had… 

He shook his head, pushing those thoughts out of his mind. What was important now was to figure out what exactly his situation was. If he really was eleven, and the future- his past?- was going to happen, he had to stop it. 

A quick peak behind the window curtain confirmed that the sun was not going to be up for a while. Figuring he was safe for the moment, Draco did the obvious thing; he climbed back into bed. Until he knew what had happened, he didn't want to risk involving anyone, including his parents. That meant he had to act normal around them, or at least, something close to it. 

He didn't stand a chance to do that unless he got some sleep.


	2. The Boy Who Lived (Under a Cupboard)

When Draco woke up, he had to fight back a scream. For a moment, he thought he was being attacked. 

He may as well have been. 

“Draco, I've changed my mind. Your father wishes to visit Mr. Borgin today, and it would be prudent of us to get your school supplies while he does so. We have a luncheon scheduled with the Notts next week.”

His mother was as he liked to remember her. She did not have the permanent sickly pallor he had become used to seeing, and her hair was shiny and full. Her posture was perfect and proud as she perched in a velvet armchair, not wasted and frightened. 

Draco hadn't thought he would ever see his mother like this again. He had to fight back the prickle of tears as she listed off things they needed to get done that day.

“-and new robes, the ones you have now are ghastly. Your ankles keep showing.” She sniffed, noticing his silence. “Well, sweetheart? We can't get going if you just sit around in bed all day.”

Draco hurried out of bed. “O-of course, mother.”

Satisfied with his response, she stood. “I've already eaten, but I had the elves prepare your favorite. Be ready by nine.”

Draco nodded, eyes following her as she closed the door. This was going to be a lot more difficult than he thought if he kept being shocked at the mere sight of his family and friends. 

He pulled on the robes Dobby had set out and headed downstairs. His mother hadn't lied. Plates of his favorite breakfast foods were spilling over the edges of the table. He couldn't help but be a little excited at the sight of the delicious spread; towards the end of the war, Bellatrix had been in charge of cooking.

He sunk into some French toast and fresh berries, savoring the flavor. It was even better than he remembered. 

With a frown, he set down the fork. The food had always been good, but this was  _ better _ than he remembered it ever being.

“Dobby?” Draco called.

The elf appeared with a crack, his normally floppy ears standing at attention. “Master Draco is calling Dobby?”

“The food is better than it usually is… ” Draco began.

Immediately, Dobby looked terrified. He wrung his hands in the filthy pillowcase he wore, and his eyes darted around nervously. Suddenly, he broke out in a wail.“Dobby is taking extra special care with the young master’s breakfast! Dobby was meaning to thank Master Draco for his kindness last night! Dobby is not doing it again! Dobby will make food the same way every time!”

The elf ended his rant with another wail, slamming his head against the wall with a loud thud. 

“Dobby, stop!” Draco ordered, alarmed. He looked around, hoping neither of his parents had heard; he didn't want to face any questioning about his midnight sickness and, more importantly, his subsequent request for the newspaper. 

He could see the conversation now:  _ “Oh? Draco was sick and immediately afterward asked for yesterday's Daily Prophet?” _

They'd cart him off to St. Mungo’s in no time.

He assumed an imperious air and drew himself to full height. “There is no need to punish yourself, elf. You are dismissed.” He said in a lofty voice. 

With tears welling in his eyes, the house elf bowed deeply and disappeared.

Draco relaxed. Not only had he escaped what would have no doubt been a very awkward conversation with his parents, he seemed to have earned the position of most favored Malfoy in Dobby’s eyes. When he thought about it, that was actually rather depressing. All he had done was not order the creature to hurt itself.

* * *

 

Draco slapped away his mother’s hand. “I’m too old for that,” he whined.

Narcissa Malfoy scowled but did not press him on it. “As you wish.” She said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. 

She turned away, eyeing a sapphire necklace in the window of a nearby store. “Since you are so…  _ grown up,  _ perhaps you can visit Madam Malkin’s on your own?”

Draco’s heart leaped. He knew his mother meant it as a challenge to disprove his maturity, but he didn't care. Everything was going exactly as he had seen it, and his plan was working perfectly. 

He had made his decision after a lot of deliberation. While he was not sure exactly what had happened, he would treat the  _ vision  _ as if it were to happen. The events of today had already suggested that they would. 

Since that was true, he needed to act. He couldn't stand by and watch his family waste away; he was a Malfoy. He would do everything in his power to make sure that future never came to pass, to ensure the Malfoys remained as they should: powerful, rich and, most importantly, alive.

Which meant Potter. Draco had heard mention of the prophecy. If it were true, it meant only Potter could win the coming war. To do that, he needed Draco’s help- he had obviously failed without it. 

“I suppose I could…” He grumbled, trying to remain as accurate to his memory of the events as possible. His efforts were rewarded with a small nod, and he set off to Madam Malkin’s with a racing heartbeat.

Now, if he could just make sure he was in the store long enough-

_ Crash. _

Draco found himself on the ground, dazed. Again, he was fumbling for a wand that wasn't there. 

“‘Arry!”

Draco froze, feeling an instinctive mixture of disgust and dislike bred from seven years of hatred. 

As if on cue, an inhumanly large figure lumbered into view. Before he could utter a word of protest, Hagrid had lifted him to his feet. For a moment he was stunned into silence. He bit back a few strongly worded statements about a half-breed imposing his help on a pureblood, remembering that Potter had been good friends with the oaf.  _ Heaven knows why. _

“Thank you.” He forced out, feeling his cheeks heat with humiliation. If the Dark Lord could see him now…

“No problem,” the groundskeeper grunted, turning away to face a child who Draco was sure must be a stray urchin. “You alrigh’ Harry?”

Draco did a double take. This kid, dressed in oversized, worn out, Muggle clothing? Harry Potter? Surely not, no, not this skittish looking twig. He may be wearing glasses, his eyes may be green, and that, hidden behind overgrown bangs  _ might  _ be a scar, but no. Surely not. This kid was scrawny and unkempt, like someone who had been kept in a cramped, dark space for far too long. Like a cupboard. 

As if anyone would keep the Boy Who Lived in a cupboard.

The boy smiled at Hagrid, brushing off some dirt. “I’m fine, really.” He turned to Draco, and he saw it; he had the same nose as Potter, the same mannerisms… “Sorry, I should have been paying closer attention.” Potter’s tone was polite, but Draco had the feeling they both knew who was really to blame for their collision.

An awkward silence fell as Draco scrambled for something to say. 

“Well, ” Potter shrugged, looking a little disappointed. “Bye then.”

He turned to set off with the oaf-  _ Hagrid - _ at his side. 

“Wait!” Draco called out, mustering the courage to speak. It wasn’t like it could get any worse at this point, he must already seem like a lunatic. 

Well, it’s not like he could help it. At this point, he was pretty sure he was going insane. Everything was just too surreal.

He held out a hand. “I’m Draco. Draco Malfoy.” He swallowed what little of his pride remained. “I’m sorry I ran into you.”  _ Oh, how the mighty have fallen. _

Potter’s face brightened, and he reached out to shake Draco’s hand. “I’m Harry. Nice to meet you.”

While Draco noticed the tactical choice not to mention his surname, he took a hint from his mother and did not comment on it. More importantly, Hagrid was looking a little concerned. No doubt the Malfoy reputation had preceded him- again. He almost snorted with laughter- as long as he didn’t end up a Death Eater, he would abuse the Malfoy name and reputation for all it was worth. Too bad not everyone was as easily by gold swayed as Fudge.

Before the half bre-  _ groundskeeper-  _ could mess things up, Draco launched into conversation. “So, are you going to Hogwarts this year? That’s why I’m here. I was actually headed to Madam Malkin’s. Have you done much of your shopping yet?”

He got a mixed reaction. Pott-  _ Harry,  _ God, it was going to be difficult to change that habit- looked half overwhelmed by the onslaught of questioning, and half pleased by it. 

“Yeah, Hogwarts. We were going to buy robes too.” He hesitated, shooting Hagrid a quick glance. “Maybe we could go together?”

Draco latched onto the idea like it was a lifeline. “That would be great!”

Harry smiled timidly, and before Hagrid could have any say in it, Draco set off towards Madam Malkin’s with Harry in tow. 

“So, are you excited to start at Hogwarts?” Draco said. ”I’ve wanted to go for as long as I can remember.”

“Really?” Harry grinned, then his expression turned sheepish. “I… Well, I just found out I was going yesterday.”

Draco stumbled, but managed to make it look like he had tripped on the hem of his robes. “Oh, um, really?”

Harry nodded, his expression darkening. He didn’t elaborate on it, and Draco took that as a cue to change topics. 

“So...” He searched wildly for a topic, and then it struck him as obvious. “Ever heard of Quidditch?”

They talked all the way to Madam Malkin’s and through their fitting, (Hagrid had disappeared to purchase something, much to Draco’s relief.) The groundskeeper seemed to have decided that Draco was alright, although he wondered if he was reserving his final judgment. 

Speaking with Harry was a confusing experience. Draco expected him to act based on how he remembered him, but he wasn’t like that at all.  _ This  _ Harry was inquisitive, humble, shy… nothing like the brash, combative person he remembered. He didn’t fit the picture Severus had painted either.  Draco worried for a bit if his vision was actually false, despite how vivid it had been. However, he quickly changed his mind when a more obvious answer struck him.

There was only thing to it; this Harry, unlike the one from his memories, didn’t hate Draco. And, try as he might resist it, Draco found it very easy to talk to him. He asked a lot of questions about the wizarding world, which were actually kind of fun to answer. Everything Draco took for granted everyday left Harry whispering his amazement in an awestruck tone. The more they spoke, the more enthusiastic he became, and slowly-  _ slowly _ \- Draco realized he was talking to the real Harry Potter for the first time in his life.

By the time they left Madam Malkin’s, (Harry, with a full new wardrobe of clothes that fit him, bought on Draco’s advice, and Draco with his school robes,) Draco was busy wondering where the angry, bitter person he had remembered went. He didn’t even notice his mother approaching. 

“Draco, there you are.” She scolded. “What took you so long?”

His mother’s eyes weren’t on him, however; they were fixed on the unkempt boy next to him. Before she could say anything, Draco launched into answering her unasked question. For some reason, leaving Harry to the mercy of his mother’s judgment didn’t seem very appealing. “Mother, this is Harry. I met him at the shop. He grew up with Muggles, so I was helping him with his things.”

Harry was clearly unnerved by Narcissa’s calculating stare. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

His mother nodded in return, her eyebrows drawing together ever so slightly. Then, her eyes flicked to Harry’s forehead, and Draco saw comprehension dawn. Suddenly, his mother relaxed her demeanor. “A pleasure, Harry. I hope Draco has been kind to you?” 

Harry nodded, looking a little surprised by the formality but going with it nonetheless. “Yes, thank you, he’s been very kind.”

Draco bit back a laugh. 

His mother smiled. Draco was surprised to see it seemed genuine. “Well, Draco still needs to buy a wand, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the company. Would you like to come with us?”

Harry grinned. “I do have to get my wand, but…  ” Harry looked around, but Hagrid was nowhere in sight. He deflated a little bit. “I’m supposed to wait here, I think.”

“I see.” Narcissa paused, considering. “Well, we can wait.” She walked to a nearby bench, and sat upon it as if it were a throne. 

Draco turned back to Harry while trying to quash the hopeful feeling welling inside him. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped.

Harry was looking at him funny.

Draco shifted. “What?”

“How did you know I grew up with Muggles?”

Draco shrugged, though his heart was racing. “Well, you didn’t know about Hogwarts until yesterday, so I assumed… ”

Harry frowned, opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he resumed his barrage of questioning. “So, what kinds of wands are there? And what do they do?”

Draco smiled and answered as best as he could.

* * *

 

**Author’s Note: Thank you for reading and thank you for your support! I was amazed how many people were interested in this! But it also made my day :)**  

**A couple things- I update as I finish writing, so I would say a good timeframe for updates is anywhere from 3 days to 2 weeks. Working full time right now, and things to come up. Any longer than that and I will let y’all know what’s going on.**

**Also, as I am posting when I finish, I may go back and do some editing later on. Nothing major though.**

**That’s it! Thanks for reading, hope to see you again soon.**


	3. Divergences

Just as the old saying goes, oil and water do not mix. Yet, Draco had been dumb enough to forget.

His mother was staring down the Hogwarts groundskeeper with a steely gaze that made Draco shiver even though it wasn't directed at him. Surprisingly, Hagrid was holding his ground. Sure, he had gone red in the face, but Draco knew from experience that just meant he was deciding whether or not to put his giant genes to use.

Narcissa’s nostrils flared. “And you are?” Her tone did nothing to soften the rudeness of her words.

Hagrid noticed. He drew himself to full height, which, all things considered, was actually sort of intimidating. “Keeper of Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts. I'm helping Harry out with his school things.” To emphasize this point, Hagrid threw an arm around his charge. Harry's knees buckled under the weight.

Narcissa smiled. Her eyes remained cold. “Ah, of course. How silly of me.”

Draco could see that this conversation was one word away from a duel in broad daylight. He turned to Harry. “So, Ollivanders?”

Harry beamed at him and repeated the question to the half giant. Hagrid didn't answer at first; he was caught in a staring match with Narcissa. 

“Wha-oh! Oh…” Hagrid shifted, facing an obvious internal conflict. Harry was clearly happy to have found someone his age to talk to, but on the other hand, that someone was a Malfoy.

Pity won out in the end. “All righ’. You can go. But wait fer me in the shop.” He added sternly. “In the meantime… I'll get you a present.”

Harry's face turned a furious shade of red. “You don't have to get me anything.” He said in a small voice.

Hagrid scoffed. “Nonsense. Tell you what, I'll get you an owl. Dead useful, they are. Carry yer mail and everything.”

“Excellent.” Narcissa clasped her hands together, pointedly ignoring Hagrid. “Now, Harry? Shall we set off?” She put a hand around his shoulder and they were walking away before he could respond.

Draco winced. He sidled up to Harry and muttered under his breath. “Sorry about her. She's in a bit of a rush.”

Harry nodded in understanding. “That's ok.”

It wasn't a long walk to Ollivanders. Strangely, Harry hadn't asked a single question the whole way. He appeared to be lost in his own excitement.

Draco couldn't blame him. He couldn't wait to get his wand back.

A bell chimed as they entered the wandmaker’s shop. Harry looked around the store in undisguised curiosity, eyes drawn to the teetering stacks of dusty boxes. Meanwhile, Narcissa waved her wand, causing one of the smaller stacks of boxes to vacate a faded armchair. She had just taken a seat when Ollivander spoke. 

“Lady Malfoy. Thirteen inches, dragon heartstring, willow. Fairly stiff, if I remember correctly.” The wandmaker, unlike Harry, was exactly as Draco remembered: an old man with creepy eyes. Said creepy eyes went directly from his mother to Harry, pausing only for a moment to acknowledge Draco's presence. 

He didn't mind. A year ago he might have cursed the man for such an insult, to ignore the heir of Malfoy. 

“Hello.” Harry offered, despite looking a bit queasy. 

“Ah, yes. I was wondering when I'd be seeing you.” He nodded cryptically. “Harry Potter.”

Harry tensed, throwing a panicked look in Draco's direction as he tried to gauge how he would react. Draco tried his best to look appropriately surprised, but this had the opposite of the desired effect. Instead of being placated, Harry shrunk impossibly smaller into his oversized Muggle hand me downs. 

Ollivander continued, oblivious to the distress he had caused his customers. “It seemed like only yesterday that I sold your parents their wands.” 

He paused, waiting for Harry’s response. When none came, he turned to consider Draco for the first time. 

“Who would like to go first?”

“I will.” Draco volunteered quickly. He was eager to get his wand back. Without it, he felt extremely vulnerable. 

Harry shot him a grateful look, still eyeing Ollivander apprehensively. He seemed to want to ask the wandmaker questions but was far too intimidated to actually do so. So, Draco started rattling off everything he knew about wandlore: how personality affects the flexibility of the wood, what combinations of core and wood are good for what kind of spells, and that, no, not every tree was suitable for use as wand wood. Ollivander occasionally supplemented his explanations, looking more impressed by the minute.

When Draco spared a glance at his mother, he realized he was heading into dangerous territory. She looked a combination of proud, impressed and utterly baffled, having no idea where he had learned any of this. Draco stopped talking abruptly and continued to try wands in silence, ignoring Harry and Ollivander’s attempts to reignite the conversation. 

There was no way he could admit where he learned it; in a dream, from Ollivander himself, who had been imprisoned in Malfoy Manor? 

Two words: Saint. Mungo’s. 

He did notice something strange, however. It was taking an awfully long time for him to get his wand. The pile next to him was now stacked as least as tall as he was, but Ollivander just hummed happily and handed him wand after wand. 

Part of him wanted to scream at the wandmaker-  _ no, not willow, you moron, hawthorn!  _ He refrained. 

After a while, Ollivander stood back and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Difficult, difficult… Maybe..?” He looked Draco up and down, circling him. “Perhaps, perhaps.” 

Without further explanation, he vanished into the back of the store. Harry took the opportunity to nudge Draco.

“Is it supposed to take this long?” He asked.

Draco shrugged. “Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't.”

Harry nodded as Ollivander returned with a single box in his arms. He did not immediately hand it to Draco as he did with the others. 

“Now, you must understand I have not sold a wand like this in thirty years,” Ollivander said, then lowered his voice so only Draco could hear. “But I haven't had one of your kind since then either.”

_ My kind?  _ Draco raised an eyebrow at that. It was obvious that this wasn't following what he remembered at all. He swallowed, trying to calm the thundering of his heartbeat. 

With extreme care, Ollivander removed the wand from its box and handed it to Draco. 

He shivered, a pleasant coolness suddenly spreading from his hand to throughout his body. He slashed the wand down, a trail of bright white light following in its wake.

His mother politely applauded, and Harry caught on and followed suit. 

Draco stared at the wand in his hand. It was wrong. All wrong. Instead of a dark, almost black, it was a cream color. It was longer, too, and thin like it would disappear into nothingness at any moment. 

That wasn't all; it  _ felt  _ different. The wand he remembered was chaotic and bright, this was controlled and calming. If he didn't know better, he would say the wand felt  _ wise _ .

It fit him. Somehow, it was more right than the other wand would have ever been. 

But it was wrong. 

Ollivander was nodding, looking immensely pleased with himself. “Splendid, Mr. Malfoy, splendid.”

Draco rolled it in his palm. If this part of his vision was wrong, what else might be?

“Most other wizards will find that wand as useful as a regular stick, but it will perform marvelously for you. Not many people tend to buy that kind of wand…” He tilted his head as if deliberating whether or not to divulge a particularly juicy secret. 

“Fourteen and a quarter inches, springy, with a core of unicorn hair.” He paused. “And made of silver lime.”

Draco wracked his memory. He couldn't recall anything about silver lime… 

“Very fashionable, a century or two ago.” Ollivander nodded, setting his measuring tape on Harry. “Last one I ever made. They don't sell often. Some have been sitting in my store for longer than I can remember… you'll be the second customer I've sold one too, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco had a sinking feeling. He didn't like where this conversation was headed but wanted to hear what Ollivander would say. 

“Oh yes-” He began handing Harry wands. “Rowan, nine inches, dragon heartstring. Nice and whippy- Silver lime tends to work for a rather particular kind of person.” Absently, he snatched a wand away from Harry and replaced it with a different one. “Blackwood, twelve and a half inches, with a core of unicorn tail hair. Slightly yielding.”

He turned back to Draco. “I am curious. Is there any Seer blood in your family?” 

“Neither the Black family nor the Malfoy family has produced any notable Seers.” Narcissa interjected before Draco could process what had been said. His mother’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Ollivander.” 

Ollivander ignored- or did not hear- the warning in her tone. To inquire so bluntly about such a private matter of family history was nothing short of rude.

“Yes, but I do believe the Black line  _ has  _ produced some rather powerful Legilimens?” 

Narcissa sniffed, neither confirming nor denying it. 

The exchange was cut short when he snatched another wand away from Harry, who had been listening with wide eyes. 

Ollivander hummed. “Another tricky one, eh? Perhaps…” He disappeared into the back, emerging- as he did for Draco- with a single box.

“Quite an unusual combination, this one. Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather core. Nice and supple.”

Harry took the wand gingerly, brought it above his head and whipped it through the air, causing a shower of gold sparks.

Ollivander clapped the loudest. “Well done, Mr. Potter! But, curious, curious…”

His voice fell thoughtful again.  

Harry piped up, perhaps expecting revelations of family history similar to Draco's. “What's curious?”

“Well…” Ollivander's eyes darted in the Malfoy's’ direction. “That wand… the Phoenix who gave the feather for that wand gave only one other. And it just so happens that the other wand… gave you that scar…” He reached out and brushed Harry's hair back, knuckles grazing the legendary lightning bolt.

“The two of you are certainly the most interesting customers I've had in awhile.” He said quietly. 

Malfoy had to stop himself from gasping aloud.  _ That  _ was something new. His mother was equally surprised, her eyebrows disappearing behind the curls of her hair.

On the other hand, Harry looked deeply disturbed. Draco supposed he would feel the same way if his wand shared a core with the wand that killed his parents. Either way, he looked happy when Ollivander bowed them out of the shop. 

Hagrid was waiting for them outside with a snowy white owl Draco recognized as Harry's. Upon seeing this, a wide smile split Harry's face, along with an outbreak of stuttering.

It was several minutes before Harry had finally finished stammering his thanks to Hagrid and instead began to stare at his new familiar thoughtfully. He bit his lip.

“Do you… Would it be alright for me to write you?”

Draco looked at Harry carefully. He was having a hard time remembering what the Harry from his memory had looked like. Hadn't he been taller? Didn't he have a much meaner glint in his eyes? Because all he saw was a small lonely person. 

A small part of Draco wanted to turn away and sneer. But that part was tiny and petty, a ghost of a schoolboy whose feelings had been hurt by the rejection of the singularly most important person in the wizarding world. 

“Of course.”

* * *

 

Narcissa watched Harry Potter wave goodbye with a frown. She turned to her son.

What exactly had gotten into him today? It was almost like he was a completely different person. Making friends with Harry Potter, of all people?

And the nerve of that wandmaker! Inquiring into the genealogy of  _ both  _ the Black and Malfoy families? 

As far as Narcissa was aware, there had been only one Seer in the family; one of Lucius’ great aunts, Celeste Malfoy. What that had to do with Draco's wand, she had no idea. Ollivander had always been a bit off- maybe he had finally lost it.

“Draco,” she said. “Come, we must meet your father.” She paused. Should she say something about the Boy Who Lived? Surely, Draco knew his family's inclinations.

She decided against it. There was a light in his eyes she hadn't seen before; she didn't want to extinguish it. He was probably excited to speak with someone on his level. Draco had always been a smart boy, it was no surprise that he was finally tiring of Vincent and Gregory. 

She took her son’s hand, and together they walked into the darkness of Knockturn Alley.

* * *

 

 **Author’s note: info on wands gotten from pottermore. Normally I don't like much that is on there, but the wandlore stuff is neat. Highly recommend.**  

**Oh, and don't worry. Harry** **_will_ ** **get over his shy phase soon. Like next chapter soon.**


	4. The Hogwarts Express and Hogwarts

_ Dear Harry, _

_ I hope this finds you well. I've never sent Zeus to a Muggle home before, so I was unsure if he would make it. _

_ It's pretty boring around here. Mother wants me to make nice with these two boys, Crabbe and Goyle. They're dumb as rocks. I might have mentioned that to them, and now they've stopped speaking to me. Honestly, I think I came out on top in that exchange.  _

_ How about you? What do muggles do for entertainment, anyway? _

_ Have you had the chance to look at your school books yet? If you have the time, I'd take a look at  _ A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _. I've met the Potions Master of Hogwarts before, and he accepts nothing less than perfection. He's also a bit of a jerk. _

_ I can't wait for September 1st. _

_ Your friend, _

_ Draco Malfoy  _

 

Harry read the letter over several times. It had arrived around midnight, carried by the largest owl he had ever seen. Hedwig didn't take well to the eagle owl- Zeus- but she begrudgingly let him rest in her cage when Harry wheedled her with some Owl Treats. 

He sat on his bed and carefully folded the letter up and put it back in the thick parchment envelope it arrived in, fingers grazing the ornate wax seal. He was still in a daze from it all, but that was slowly starting to wear off. Excitement was beginning to set in. Now, if only September 1st would come sooner.

The Dursleys had taken a new approach when it came to Harry: completely ignore him. It was lonely, and it made Harry glad he had met Draco in Diagon Alley. 

Draco had been the first person in a long time to treat him normally. The other wizards he had met all adored him, (for something he couldn't even remember,) and he had never had much luck making friends until now. It was a nice feeling. 

There was a sudden thump on his bedroom door. Harry looked up, mildly surprised when it swung open.

“Oh.” He said. “Dudley.”

Dudley was shaking, whether in fear or due to the natural quiver of his blubber, Harry did not know. 

“G-...” He looked down at his feet, struggling to speak.

Harry couldn't stop the wicked grin on his face. If ever there was a chance for revenge…

“Tail.” Dudley grunted, watery eyes averted. 

He blinked. Harry had almost forgotten about that part of Hagrid’s visit.

Almost.

“Tail?” He tilted his head to one side. “What're you talking about?” 

Dudley’s face reddened. He mumbled something that vaguely sounded like “mine.”

Harry put a hand to his ear. “I'm sorry. Didn’t catch that.” 

It finally got through his cousin’s thick skull that he was messing with him. 

“You think you're so great!” Dudley exploded in an uncharacteristic bout of courage. “With your- your- _ stuff.” _

“Ah yes.” Harry nodded. “My ‘ _ stuff _ .’”

Dudley sneered. “Doesn't change the fact that you're a loser. Bet you’ll still be one at that- that  _ place.” _

“Not true.” Harry said quietly. Dudley seemed to remember in that same moment why he had been ordered to avoid Harry. He let out a girlish “eep!” at the glint in Harry's eyes.

Harry smiled pleasantly. “Oh yes, don't you know? I already met someone who's going to school with me. To learn-” he leaned in. “Magic?”

Dudley gasped, a shaking finger pointing at Harry in weak accusation. “D-Dad said not to s-say that word!” 

Harry shrugged. He hadn't had this much fun in a while. “And-” he added on inspiration, “he grew up in a  _ magic _ house. He probably knows how to give people all sorts of tails, too.”

Dudley was now opening and closing his mouth in silent horror.

Harry looked his cousin up and down. “You know, a fluffy bunny tail might just work for you.” 

That did it. Dudley screamed aloud and ran from the room sobbing, leaving Harry in a fit of laughter. He knew there would be hell to lay later, but for now… 

He grinned and started fishing around for some parchment. Looks like he knew what was going to be in his first letter.

* * *

 

His finger traced the name. 

_ Celeste Lucina Malfoy. _

A Seer.

He was in a daze. It just didn't seem real. Yet here it was, right in his family genealogy.

All of those seven years, just a vision? All of it was what he had thought it least likely to be, a dream? But possible, oh so possible, and he was the only one who knew… 

And what if it happened again? What if he saw an entire life-  _ his  _ life? What then? The things he had done, people he had met… would mean nothing? Meant nothing? 

He was not seventeen. He was eleven. He had never joined the Dark Lord. But what  _ would _ happen to him?

Would he end up like that old bat, Trelawney? 

What if every time he fell asleep he dreamed for years? 

_ It's too much,  _ he thought. Draco set the heavy tome down with trembling hands.  _ I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't.  _

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to steady his breathing. There was a weakness in his hands, and his vision was blurring. It was getting hard to breath. 

A mournful hoot pulled him out of his panic. Zeus was sitting on the table, looking at Draco curiously. The owl offered its leg, a letter attached. 

Draco took it with shaking hands and opened it. It was a long letter, much longer than anything Crabbe or Goyle had ever sent. He smiled as he read. He had never met this “Dudley” before but he was already cheering Harry on as he exacted his revenge. When he finished the letter, his hands were steady.

He set the letter down. It was hard to focus on what Harry had written. Thoughts of a long dead distant relative kept intruding.

He pushed those thoughts as far away as he could and began composing a response.

* * *

 

Draco looked around the platform anxiously. In his last letter he had told Harry to meet him here, where was he? His father was getting impatient; he was doing that thing where he kept sighing, checking his watch and throwing Draco reproachful glances. 

Finally, he saw a flash of black hair and worn and torn clothes. 

He pushed his way through the crowd of muggles, ignoring multiple cries of  _ “How rude!”  _ and curious glances at his wizard robes.

“Harry!” He called, nudging an old lady out of the way. From the she glared at Draco, you would have thought he pushed her.

Harry's face broke into relief when he saw Draco approaching. “Thank god!” He said. “I had no idea what I was going to do, the platform is- um, oh… hello.” 

A familiar hand had come to rest on Draco's shoulder. “I don't believe we've been introduced. Draco?”

Draco's heart sank. He knew that tone of voice. It was like honeyed poison. “Harry, this is my father. Father, this is Harry Potter.” 

“Charming.” Lucius said. His tone suggested it was anything but. 

Draco ignored it. Instead, he was back to scanning the crowds. “Where is your family? I was looking forward to meeting them.” It wasn't entirely a lie- he  _ had  _ been wanting to see if Dudley was really as…  _ large  _ as Harry had claimed.

In an instant, Harry's smile disappeared. He said something under his breath that Draco did not catch, but it left him wondering just how much of a grudge Harry was harboring towards his muggle relatives. And most importantly, why.

“Draco? Shall we?” His father’s grip on his shoulder tightened, and he felt himself being steered towards the barrier. 

Harry followed, but with his luggage, he struggled to keep up. (Dobby had volunteered to bring his luggage ahead, so Draco didn't have any. The elf had taken to doing strange things like that since he had stopped tormenting him.)

Lucius and Draco walked through the barrier without a second thought. It was only when Draco stopped to ask Harry a question that he realized he wasn’t there.

Just as he realized that Harry had not followed, he charged from the barrier with his eyes shut tight.

“I guess I should have warned you.” Draco realized aloud.

Harry shook his head, dumbstruck as he stared at the scarlet train.

Lucius said nothing, and turned Draco to face him. He pulled him into a firm hug. “Do well, Draco.”

Draco nodded, and his father smiled for the first time that day.

“Come on.” He said and helped Harry with his luggage. “We better find a compartment.”

Harry let himself be dragged aboard the train after his luggage has been stored. It didn't take them long to find an empty compartment. 

Draco sank into the seat with an exhausted sigh. “Finally.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “Tired?”

“A bit. Aren't you? Those suitcases are heavy.”

Harry shook his head. “I'm too nervous.” He admitted.

“Don't be.” Draco waved it off. “Hogwarts is amazing.”

“No, that's not what I meant.” Harry said hurriedly. “I'm sure it’s great, just…”

Harry leaned back, searching for words. “You already know some magic, don't you?”

For a second, Draco was worried Harry had somehow found out about his secret. He quickly realized that he was referring to something else when he caught him eyeing his robes, so different from his own muggle clothing.

“Oh, well… a little bit, yeah.” Draco hurried to amend his answer when he saw Harry's face fall. “Not much! Really, just some small stuff.”

Harry didn't look reassured, but he changed the subject before Draco could say anything else. He fell back into his pattern of questioning Draco about the magical world, and their conversation turned to classes. “I read through  _ A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi  _ at least twice. Do you think it will be enough?”

“I think so.” Draco nodded, though he personally thought with Snape, Harry would never be safe from his wrath. He wouldn't tell Harry that though.

The snack trolley came and went. (Harry almost bought out their entire stock.) Eventually, there came a time when Harry ran out of questions to ask. They spent that time in companionable silence, with Harry occasionally commenting on interesting Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans flavors.

And then Granger showed up. 

With Weasley, of course. Though he looked as though he wished he weren't there. 

Hermione opened the compartment door without pausing to knock.

“Hello.” Even her greeting was imperious. She did not wait for them to return it. “Have you seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

Harry responded before Draco could open his mouth. “No, we haven't.”

_ Wait, what?  _ Harry's tone was not friendly and pleasant as it had been with Draco. Instead, it was slightly cold.

Hermione’s gaze fell on the discarded candy wrappers next to Harry and her eyes narrowed. 

“You should clean those up.”

“I will.” Harry said defensively. 

Draco frowned at Hermione.  _ Weren't they best friends? _

Hermione sniffed, and then her eyes found the scar on Harry’s forehead. “Oh!” She said. “You’re Harry Potter!”

“Right. Him.” He caught himself. “I mean, yeah. I am.” 

“I've read all about you. Did you know you're in  _ The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _ ?” She asked excitedly. 

“Am I?” Harry was looking less happy by the minute. It was obvious he wished Granger would just go away.

“You are.” Hermione threw another glance at the discarded wrappers, and slumped in apparent disappointment.

Draco felt this was a good time to intervene. “I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy.”

“Hermione Granger.” Hermione said, reaching out to shake Draco's hand. She regarded the clean seat next to him with approval. 

“Ron Weasley.” Ron added, barely audible from his position behind Hermione.

“Is there something else you need?”

Hermione beamed at Draco, while Harry glared. “Oh, no thank you. Though…” She paused. “Have you given much thought to what House you think you'll be in? I've been asking around. To me, Gryffindor seems the best, but Ravenclaw wouldn't be bad either.”

Draco shrugged. Come to think of it, he hadn't given it much thought at all. “No idea.”

Hermione had at some point taken a seat next to him. Ron, undeterred by the wrappers, took a seat next to Harry, who was looking mutinous.

“I'm going to be in Gryffindor.” Rob said glumly. “All of my family has been in it so far.”

“Er, well- don't you want to be in Gryffindor?” 

Ron shrugged at Draco. “Sure, I guess.”

He looked so put out by that fact Draco started speaking before he could realize what he was saying. “Well, maybe not. Who knows, you could be the first Slytherin Weasley in over a century.”

Ron’s jaw dropped and Hermione whirled on him. “First Slytherin Weasley in a century? And how do you know that?”

“I grew up-”

“Well, that  _ can't  _ be right.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “And of course, Harry, you'll be in Gryffindor.”

“What makes you say that?” Harry demanded.

Hermione continued without missing a beat. “Both your parents were Gryffindors. Rather famous ones, too. Goodness, you would think you'd know these things.”

Harry looked like he had been slapped in the face.

“Anyway, I should go change.” She stood, then turned back to Harry. “Oh, right- did you know there's a hole in your shirt?”

If looks could kill, Granger would be more than dead. Maybe an Inferi, even.

“She didn't even knock!” Harry hissed under his breath as McGonagall led them up the stairs.

“She did not.” Draco tacitly agreed. The first thing Harry had done after Hermione had left was demand to know why Ron was sticking around him someone like her. (Ron defended himself by saying he'd been trying to get rid of her since she boarded.) Since then, Harry had been recounting their meeting in furious detail.

Personally, Draco didn't see why forgetting to knock warranted such a vicious response, but perhaps he was missing something. 

“Attention, please!” McGonagall’s lecture was Draco's cue to tune out.

He was a little bit worried about the Sorting. In his vision, the Hat barely grazed his head before shouting  _ “Slytherin!” _ Would the same thing happen again?

When the doors swung open, he must've been the only first year not gawking in awe. Even know-it-all Granger was struck dumb at the sight of the enchanted ceiling and floating candles.

And then the Sorting began.

“Abbot, Hannah!”

Draco's eyes absently scanned the staff table, and he froze.

How could he have forgotten?

_ Quirrell. _

The Dark Lord.

He suddenly felt the urge to throw up like the rest of the first years, but his nausea had nothing to do with nerves.

“Granger, Hermione!”

Harry glared at her as she excitedly pulled on the Hat. Silence, then- 

“RAVENCLAW!”

She smiled shyly at the applause and rushed to join her House table. 

Well. That was different.

“Looks like I won’t be in Ravenclaw,” Harry muttered under his breath. Draco didn’t answer. He wished this was over with already. Since he was in the same room as Quirrell, he had been using Occlumency as Aunt Bellatrix taught him. It was draining. 

“Potter, Harry!”

Excited murmuring broke out like wildfire among the students. Draco rolled his eyes, knowing how this would end: the obvious way.

“Wish me luck,” Harry whispered to him nervously. 

“Good luck.” He whispered back.

Harry was on the stool longer than anyone before him. The more time passed, the louder the hum of students’ voices became. Then-

“SLYTHERIN!”

… 

_ What…? _

_ …. _

_ WHAT?! _

Draco barely remembered to applaud in his shock. He wasn’t alone, either; Hagrid was staring in abject horror, for one. 

“Malfoy, Draco!”

_ This is good,  _ Draco calmed himself as he approached the stool.  _ I’m a Slytherin, right? We’ll be in the same house. No need to worry. _

He had just reassured himself as he sat down and the Hat was pulled over his head.

_ “Oh, you poor child.” _

Draco started so violently he almost jumped into the air.  _ It talked?  _ He thought.

_ “I do.” _

He thought he was going to faint.

_ “That wouldn’t be good.”  _ The hat chuckled.  _ “Now…” _

_ SLYTHERIN, SLYTHERIN, SLYTHERIN,  _ Draco thought repeatedly. _ PUT ME IN SLYTHERIN. _

_ “I cannot.” _

_ What? Why not?! _

_ “You will die. It is all in your head, what you have Seen.” _

Draco gripped the stool.  _ “Please.”  _ He whispered aloud.

_ “I will not put you on a path I know will kill you.”  _ The Hat spoke gently. 

_ No, you don’t understand. I’m changing things! _

_ “To survive, there is something you need. While you don’t have it yet, you will learn...” _

_ Please, NO- _

“GRYFFINDOR!”

_ This really can’t get any worse,  _ he thought as he rose from the stool, numb. Quirrell was watching him with something akin to curiosity, he was was in a different House than Harry, and he was starting to get a headache.

_ Circe, burn them all. _

* * *

 

**A/N: Yes, I know. M comes before P in the alphabet. But I did warn you, this is an AU. And in this universe, the alphabet is all screwy!**

 

**Also, there isn't Hermione bashing in this story. Hope it didn't come off as that! She does become less of a knowitall, like in the books.**


	5. Facing the First Day

The room was dimly lit and cold. Draco sensed something similar to despair hanging in the air. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered.

He walked over to the handsome desk, running his fingers along the ornate carvings in the wood. It was familiar, but he had not seen it in years… 

A slam startled him. He watched, transfixed, as his father walked past him as if he were invisible. Tying his platinum blonde hair back, he took a seat and retrieved a small black leather journal from one of the drawers. 

Draco watched curiously as he began to write. Had he seen that book somewhere before..? 

 

A particularly loud snore from Longbottom woke him. He looked around, confused for a moment. What are those garish scarlet bed hangings and why are they-?

Oh. Right.

With a groan, he fell back onto the bed. His thoughts turned back to the dream. It had been so vivid, almost like… 

No. Draco told himself firmly. Already, another? No, no that can’t be. 

He forced himself to close his eyes. Maybe he should start taking Dreamless Sleep…

* * *

 

“Draco!” Harry waved at him from the Slytherin table, gesturing for him to head over. Draco pointed at the red and gold tie on his neck, but that only caused Harry to roll his eyes and gesture more frantically. 

Draco went over- just to avoid a scene, of course. “What?”

“Your schedule!” Harry said brightly, holding out a hand. “Can I take a look? I want to see what classes we have together.”

Draco handed it over and took a seat, ignoring a few interested glances from Harry’s fellow Slytherins. “It’s too bad we aren’t in the same house.”  _ An understatement if there ever was one. _

“Yeah, I was just thinking that.” Harry glanced Draco’s schedule over and his face fell. “Darn- only Potions?” He thrust the parchment back at Draco with a look of intense disappointment. “And I have  _ two  _ classes with the Ravenclaws today. Two!” He said sourly. 

“That’s too bad.” And it really was. How was Draco going to keep Quirrell from murdering Harry in the middle of class if he wasn’t there to stop it?

“So, how’s Gryffindor? The commons ok? The Slytherin common room is kind of eerie…”

“It’s very… red.”

“I bet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen as much green in my whole life as I’ve seen in our common room.”

Draco opened his mouth-

“Guys, drop it, would you?”

“Oh come on Ronnie.”

“Yeah, this is special!”

“Just wait till Mum hears.”

“She’ll be so-”

“-proud.”

“-ashamed.”

“Drop it!”

Ron stormed away from his brothers and took a spot at the Slytherin table next to Blaise Zabini. He eyed Draco cautiously, as if worried he might taunt him too. However, he averted his gaze when Harry began to stare back at him.

“Oh, good. I thought he was going to try to make you leave.” Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief. Draco raised an eyebrow, before remembering this Harry wasn’t the one from his vision- the one who jumped at any chance of confrontation.

At least when it came to Draco Malfoy. 

Draco sighed. He really, really, needed to remember to separate the two Harrys in his head. They were different people. Right?

Harry helped himself to more toast. He hesitated before taking a bite.

“What?”

“Wh-oh, it’s nothing.”

Harry wouldn’t quite meet his gaze.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, all right.” He lowered his voice. “Have you- well, you must have noticed that… It kind of seems like Slytherin House has a bit of a… reputation...”

“You mean..?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He stirred a bit of sausage around his plate. “Like they expect us to be bad, or something… I mean, I’m not bad, am I? I did play those pranks on Dudley, but-”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“Oh, um… ” Harry shifted. “He did apologize right after the Feast.” He added defensively. 

_ “Who?” _

Harry sighed. “Hagrid may have told me that most Slytherins become Dark wizards or witches.”

Draco’s knuckles were white. “Is that so?”

Harry nodded. “But it isn’t so bad, right? I was thinking, isn’t Dark an arbitrary label? I did a little reading, and, well… Who gets to decide what’s Dark and what’s Light-”

“No.” Draco said through grit teeth.  _ That filthy half breed was already ruining everything! If he hadn’t told Harry…   _ “There is nothing  _ good  _ about the Dark Arts.”

Harry looked a little taken aback, but just nodded disappointedly. 

What? Did he think Draco was going to support his little theory? That the Dark Arts weren’t  _ really  _ evil? 

Draco snorted.

* * *

 

“H-h-hello students. I am P-Professor Quirrell.”

“Hello Professor Quirrell.” The students chorused back at him, all but one. Draco glared instead.

Quirrell. Was he a Death Eater? An initiate? Innocent, but possessed? Maybe. Maybe not. All that mattered was he was working for  _ Him.  _ Now that he was paying attention, it was obvious. There was no way a nutjob like poor, stuttering Quirrell was  _ anything  _ but evil.  _ I mean, come on.  _ Draco thought.  _ He smells like  _ garlic _. How could Dumbledore have missed this? _

Draco spent the entire lesson avoiding eye contact. He didn’t know if Quirrell was a Legilimens, but he’d be damned if he was going to risk it. Besides, it’s not like he needed to pay attention; a couple of quick tests before bed last night coupled with his skill of Occlumency carrying over was enough proof that what he had learned in the vision was valid knowledge.

The end of the lesson eventually came about. It might have been on Red Caps. Or werewolves. Maybe the syllabus. Draco wasn’t sure. All he know is that he thought he was safe, then Quirrell’s stupid,  _ stupid _ , voice called after him. 

“M-Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco cursed inwardly but turned to face him. He made sure to focus his gaze just above the man’s eyes. 

He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were anything but fools.

“Yes, Professor Quirrell?”

“I-I couldn’t help b-but wonder. Are you r-r-related to Lord L-Lucius Malfoy?”

_ You know that I am, you ponce!  _ Draco wanted to shout. 

“He is my father, actually.”

“A-aha.” Quirrell nodded, a nasty look in his eye. “C-curious. I thought a-any son of h-his would have been sorted d-d-differently.”

Draco didn’t respond. He didn’t trust himself to. The incantation _ Avada Kedavra  _ was right on the tip of his tongue, despite how he had grown to fear and loathe those words… 

“S-send your father my r-regards.” Quirrell murmured when he realized Draco would say no more on the matter. He evidently realized he had crossed a line and pushed too far. 

Draco nodded curtly and all but stormed out of the room.

_ How dare he?  _ Draco fumed.  _ Implying that he, Draco Malfoy, was not the son of Lucius Malfoy?  _ Sure, he had realized his Sorting had been unexpected, but surely not more so than Harry bloody Potter’s!  _ And surely not so much for Quirrell to be suggesting something so uncouth…  _

He had never been so insulted in his entire life, vision or reality. To imply such a thing, to imply that Narcissa Malfoy nee Black had stooped so low as to  _ infidelity?  _ And him! A bastard child? Not when he had rare magical gifts, not when he was a real  _ Seer- _

_ No.  _ Draco stopped that line of thought.  _ Gift? More like a curse.  _

But Quirrell’s words had stirred uneasiness in Draco- nothing about his mother’s supposed infidelity, of course. That was laughable. No… 

How  _ would  _ they react to him being in Slytherin? He had seen the way the Weasleys were treating their own, but surely the Malfoys still remained above  _ that  _ standard… Yet, they had not responded to his letter. 

Draco shook it off. It was no use worrying over it, not when he had much more important things to be concerned about. 

Like the Dark Lord’s minion teaching his classes. 

An odd thought struck him. What if he went to Dumbledore? The man would intervene, wouldn’t he? He had tried to help Draco… But that would expose him as a Seer, and more importantly, his parents as Death Eaters. There was no other way. They would be thrown in Azkaban when they were exposed, and he’d be alone… 

No. Not again. 

Draco took a deep breath. This was turning out to be much, much more difficult than he had expected.

* * *

Harry looked eagerly for Draco in the Great Hall. Turns out, he had been lied to about Hogwarts. It wasn’t great, it was  _ wonderful.  _

He waved at Draco when he spotted him. It looked like he had started to wave back when he was ambushed by a large eagle owl carrying what Harry recognized as a letter with the Malfoy seal. His parents, maybe?

Draco was paralyzed by the sight of the bird, as if a mail delivery were the same as facing the worst magical beast. Then, he suddenly shocked out of his idleness, snatched the letter from the owl and tore it open. He read it quickly, his eyes rapidly darting back and forth. 

And he relaxed, pocketing the letter. 

“What was that all about?” Harry asked as Draco took a seat next to him. They were sitting at the Gryffindor table this time. Harry was curious to see if they served different food at the different tables. 

Draco waved him off, smiling broadly. “Nothing.”

* * *

 

_ Dear Draco, _

_ I will not lie to you. Lucius and I were surprised when we received your letter. You are the first recorded Gryffindor ever in the Malfoy lineage. It was unexpected news, to say the least. _

_ However, you are our son. We are not so foolish to believe that you will not excel wherever you are. You are a Malfoy. (And a Black, more importantly. In my opinion, at least.)  _

_ Most importantly, you are  _ our  _ son. Success is in your blood. Glory is your destiny. And we will support you every step of the way. _

_ With Love, _

_ Your mother, Narcissa Malfoy _

 

* * *

 

**A/N: I know some of you might be surprised that Narcissa and Lucius’ reactions were pretty mild.**

 

**Explanation: Narcissa was willing to go behind Voldemort’s back and recruit Snape to try to protect Draco and Lucius tried to get Voldemort to stop the Battle of Hogwarts for him. I just can't see them losing their minds over his House placement, they love him too much.**

 

**HOWEVER, REST ASSURED! There is lots of juicy Malfoy family drama in the making. HINT: TMR’s diary**


End file.
